


Warm and Fuzzy

by alcego



Series: Captain Sandwich [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: "Everyone's Fine and the World Isn't Ending": an AU, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Shopping for Cat Supplies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcego/pseuds/alcego
Summary: Jon isn’t exactly—look. He isn’t good at this. At feelings. It isn’t his cup of tea; he’d much rather exist in someone’s general direction, absorb them as a guilty pleasure, and call it a day.But Martin is not, and never has been interested in that sort of affection. He’s not looking for a cat; he’s looking for apartner. And Jon can be that partner, he swears it. Even if it means getting his act together one day at a time. He can do that. Probably.At least, he thinks he can.Georgie looks dubious, if supportive, when he tells her his plan. “Jon,” she says, “are you sure about this?”“Of course I am,” he says, managing to only splutter a little. “Why wouldn’t I be?”“You aren’t exactly the mostwarm and fuzzyof fellows.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Captain Sandwich [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581469
Comments: 18
Kudos: 277
Collections: tma fics





	Warm and Fuzzy

**Author's Note:**

> it's winter! which means my depression gets even worse & writing is a hellish nightmare, so here i am, writing fanfic for the sole purpose of excising those demons and establishing a tiny bit of joy in the world. have some jon/martin fluff that has been in no way edited or beta'd (but should serve as chicken noodle soup for the soul nonetheless)

Jon isn’t exactly— _look_. He isn’t good at this. At feelings. It isn’t his cup of tea; he’d much rather exist in someone’s general direction, absorb them as a guilty pleasure, and call it a day.

But Martin is not, and never has been, interested in that sort of affection. He’s not looking for a cat in Jon; he’s looking for a _partner_. And Jon can be that partner, he swears it. Even if it means getting his act together one day at a time. He can do that. Probably.

At least, he thinks he can.

Georgie looks dubious, if supportive, when he tells her his plan. “Jon,” she says, “are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am,” he says, managing to only splutter a little. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You aren’t exactly the most _warm and fuzzy_ of fellows.”

“I can be, if I want.”

Her eyebrows prove more eloquent than Jon is, most days. Hell, Jon’s one step shy of being convinced that just one of Georgie’s eyebrows could talk Elias into a corner, convince him to stop being such a creep for one day. Just one day. That’s all Jon really wants, right now.

So he calls out, the next day, and tries to tell himself that it’s fine. The archive will survive without him for one day, so long as Tim and Sasha and Martin don’t find a way to set it on fire. His fingers itch for his keys at the thought. He wouldn’t put it past them to find a way.

But- no. Patience. A virtue he needs to practice, right now. While he stares at his grimy, chewed on nails and wonders when the hell he got so pathetic. He thinks of his time in a band, and realizes with a start that he was definitely, one-hundred percent, an all around better person back then.

That’s a hell of a realization, and he’s not real keen to dwell on it. Instead, he eyes Martin’s side of the bed, wonders if he’ll realize that Jon hasn’t been sleeping when he gets home from his research trip.

Jon musses up the covers, just to be safe.

There, no way Martin will figure it out now. Jon eyes the clock and decides he’s waited long enough. If Martin had intended to stop home before going into work, he would have said by now. No other texts yet, of course. Martin’s flight wouldn’t get in until the afternoon, but his connection boarded an hour ago, and he’d assured Jon he’d let him know if he was going to stop home first.

So, with that handled, Jon grabs his keys and pats his pocket, assuring himself his wallet is where it’s supposed to be. Then he leaves his apartment, into a crisp London afternoon. The street is lively, but not too crowded. People walk along the sidewalk, moving in between the different points in their lives, unaware of the stories surrounding them, of the horrors hiding in the dark all around them.

Jon’s step falters as he realizes he’s taking the wrong route. The buildings here curve towards the Institute, guiding him inexorably onwards. It’s insufferable, and freakish, and altogether not what Jon has set out to do today.

So he turns around, silencing the disgruntlement of those around him with his expression alone (and trying to ignore the disappointed and smug echo of Georgie’s voice in his mind) and marches through the city, crossing streets and taking corners with a serious sense of purpose.

He stops before the pet store, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. The buildings leading to the Institute loomed, yes, but they have nothing on this little store, with its humble architecture and the posters hanging in its windows. This place makes Jon feel small in a way that most buildings fail to do. Those classically intimidating buildings fail, not because they’re unimpressive, but because they’re _boring_. Jon knows the game, and it has lost its charm.

This building, though… this is new.

Jon steps into the shop, feeling the bright white light pierce his eyes and his skin and his soul, and swallows fiercely. He can do this. He knows cats, knows what they need. In and out, easy. No big deal.

But he gets lost in the aisles, in the displays. Stares at the different brands of cat food with fear and dismay, considering for a brief moment dialing Georgie’s number and asking her for help. But that means admitting defeat, and that’s something Jon absolutely _cannot_ do.

“Are you finding everything alright?” a perky employee asks.

Jon glances at her, sees the bags beneath her eyes and the robotic smile on her lips. He knows that look—sees it every time he steps on a line he really shouldn’t have, one that is _wrong_ , but not so wrong as to be worth getting into a fight over. His stomach turns hot and cold in turns as he tries to figure this out, tries to find the right thing to say. It’s not as desperate a thought as it should be, but it’s _there_ , which is more than he could’ve said a year ago. He can thank Martin for that, probably.

Jon clears his throat, tries to pretend he hasn’t been staring at cat food for the past ten minutes and having an existential crisis. “My partner and I, we’re planning on adopting a cat.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” the employee says. “Congratulations. Do you need any help finding food or litter?”

Jon ignores the blooming frustration at the idea of _needing_ something from anyone, especially a stranger, tells himself it’s irrational, and what would his therapist think? Ignoring an employee’s attempts at help simply because he suspects they might use it as _leverage_ against him?

Even to Jon, with his many bad runs, knows that sort of thinking is never going to get him anywhere. So he ignores it, with difficulty, and says, “Yes.”

The employee asks him questions about the sort of cat they’ll be adopting, and Jon answers to the best of his ability, pushing himself to be honest, reminding himself that this employee has no ulterior motives, that he is just shopping for cat supplies, that this is _fine_.

“We don’t have a specific cat in mind, as of yet, but we’re definitely leaning strongly towards an older cat.”

“Fluffy or short-haired?”

“Fluffy.”

“How much time will you be spending with the cat?”

He bristles at this one, unable to shove back the paranoia creeping up his spine. “Enough.”

The employee laughs and nods. “You’ll be wanting plenty of enrichment toys, then. Scratching posts, balls, that sort of thing.”

“I- uh- I thought older cats didn’t—?”

“Oh they do,” the employee says. “Although it’s obviously different cat to cat. Some may be perfectly happy to chill and sleep all day, but all cats scratch, and many will still want _something_ to play with.”

“That makes sense,” Jon says, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose I ought to get some simple things, to start. My partner and I will have to pick out some more at a later date.”

The employee carries on, guiding him through the different kinds of cat litter (who knew there were _so many?_ ) and advising him on other feline-related decisions. Jon leaves the store feeling considerably more confident in his plan, although he’s starting to realize that perhaps walking to the pet store may not have been the best of ideas. His back is aching by the time he reaches the apartment.

He unloads everything into the front room and sits on the couch, staring at the white bags on the brown carpet, the small scratching post tipping out of the bag as the plastic failed to hold it fully upright. He checks his phone, wondering if Martin’s gotten off the plane yet.

Martin called an hour ago. Then he’d left a text.

_You okay?_

Guilt pangs in Jon’s chest. He doesn’t usually call out of work; of course Martin’s first response to hearing the news is concern.

 _Fine_. Jon responds. _Just needed a break. See you soon?_

He hopes it’s enough. He sets about tidying the front room, setting the cat toys in a neat pile on the coffee table and setting the scratcher by the couch like the employee had advised. He thinks about reading, before remembering that there’s literally nothing that he wants to read at the moment. He thinks about dinner, and briefly considers making it himself before remembering the scrambled egg disaster and opting to just order take-out instead.

Martin’s key jiggles in the lock a few minutes after Jon’s gotten the cartons of take-out organized on the dinner table. He’s feeling fairly silly by this time, kicking himself for going cat-supply shopping in _secret_ in some bizarre quest to prove his worth to Martin. Not that Martin needed, or expected, Jon to prove himself.

Martin stands in the doorway, suitcase in hand, and stares at the couch. Specifically at the scratching post set up next to it. “Jon,” he says. “What did you do?”

Martin wanders farther in, shutting the door behind him, continuing to stare at the pile of toys, and the scratching post, and recognizing an empty litter box and a bag of corn-based litter sitting in a bag next to it.

“Nothing, really,” Jon says, feeling more ridiculous by the second. “I just figured, well, we’ve been talking about getting a cat, right? So I went and I, well, it’s obvious really, but I picked up some of the basic supplies. No cat food, yet. I was advised to wait to get any of that until we’d chosen a cat and gotten its dietary needs, so that’ll wait. No bowls, either. I figured you’d want to help pick those out.”

“Jon,” Martin says. “Why?”

For a second, Jon is convinced he’s done everything wrong. Then he sees the smile creeping across Martin’s face, blooming in his eyebrows and sparkling in his eyes, and he realizes that he hasn’t done anything _wrong_. Not by a long shot. “I- I don’t know,” he says after a second. “It just, felt like the right thing to do?”

Martin drops his suitcase by the coffee table and picks up one of the cat toys. It’s a miniature lobster, bright red cloth with black stitching for eyes. Jon had been assured that cats loved it. Plus, it had cost less than a pound.

“It’s lovely,” Martin says. “That you’d do this, I mean. It’s… it makes it all feel more real, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“So, about that cat.” Martin finds Jon’s eyes, blinds him with his smile. “How about visiting the shelter tomorrow?”

“I’d have to call out again.”

“So? It’ll be a Friday, so it’s not like we’ll get hardly anything done, anyway. Tim’s talking about getting everyone together at the pub after work, and you know how he gets about that.”

Jon shudders. “It would certainly be- better. To avoid him.”

Martin snorts. “Figured you’d say that. So, in case Tim asks, you got a stomach bug, and then I came home and got it, too, and so we stayed together all weekend, sick.”

“While adopting a cat.”

“While adopting a cat, yes.”

Jon smiles. It feels strange, still, to do that. He’s so used to scowling that the expression feels foreign. Funny that Martin brings it out so easily, then. Especially as thoughts of why this is a bad idea, of why he shouldn’t have even called out today, let alone do the same tomorrow, fly through his head.

With Martin here, smiling is easier. Not easy, not by any means. But it’s progress.

Jon takes Martin’s hand, pulls him into a hug. Holds Martin close and breathes him in, relishes the way Martin wraps his arms around him and squeezes him just right, until Jon feels held and safe and like he can do anything without a worry in the world.

It’s a marvelous feeling.

Eventually, the hug ends, and Martin’s bright eyes take Jon in, memorizing him. It’s a marvelous feeling, too. A warm one, that sets Jon alight, fills him with an emotion that he’d only ever felt with Georgie before this.

They settle down to eat their take-out before it gets cold, and the smile sits on Jon’s lips the whole time. Funny, that they can do this so easily, and Georgie _still_ thinks Jon isn’t a warm and fuzzy person. He can do cats, and he can do people.

He just needs a little help, is all.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! please let me know what you think either in the comments or [on tumblr](https://alcego.tumblr.com/), as i'm considering popping out a few one-shots that are connected to this revolving around Jon and Martin's acquisition (and adjustment) to their new fluffy friend!


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